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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23622835">Satin</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonwanderer/pseuds/Moonwanderer'>Moonwanderer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Uncle [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, Hurt Illya, Hurt/Comfort, Illya Whump, Illya needs a hug, M/M, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Partnership, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sharing a Bed, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, protective napoleon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 17:40:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,432</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23622835</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonwanderer/pseuds/Moonwanderer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After a rough mission Illya has nightmares. Fortunately, Napoleon is there.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Illya Kuryakin &amp; Napoleon Solo, Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Uncle [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1700443</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>151</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Satin</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>My first fic in this fandom. I loved the film and adore this pairing. Such a unique chemistry between the boys.</p><p>I can't believe Illya doesn't have some uneasiness when it comes to water, or has nightmares about drowning after what's happened with him during that boat chase.</p><p>Can be seen as a pairing or just friendship, as You like it.</p><p>I am not a native speaker, so mistakes may be found.<br/>I do not own the characters, etc., etc.,...</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was not his mission, Illya has to admit as he finally gets back to the hotel and can throw himself on the sofa. Somehow things didn’t work in his favour. Almost everything he’s done went awry, and he got a nice beating at the end. In contrast, Cowboy was fantastic, the suave bastard he is, and even managed to escape the beating. The last part was the only one Illya didn’t mind, he can take beatings, and prefers himself to get the rough end of the stick, if it means he can save his partners from getting hurt. He is the muscle of the team after all.</p><p>Still, the pain doesn’t help him feel better at all. He feels just like one big, throbbing bruise, sensitive all over. He wants nothing but to curl up and sleep. And so he does, towering the pillows at one end of the sofa, and somehow trying to make himself comfortable. With his length it’s a hopeless act, still, lets exhaustion take over, and somehow manages to fall asleep.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Napoleon returns fifteen minutes later, with a confident smile on his lips and a bottle of great wine in his hand. And just as he steps inside, his glance falls upon his partner.</p><p>Halting his steps, with an eyebrow raised and his head tilted sideways, he watches and observes.</p><p>Illya is asleep, and must be exhausted, cause usually he is a light sleeper, waking up to almost every noise, still not even stirring when he stepped in. He is too long, way too long to be comfortable lying there, legs dangling off the armrest, and head propped up at a strange angle with some pillows. His expression is stern, almost angry even as he sleeps, with his shoes still on and his hat pulled over his eyes.</p><p>Napoleon sighs and shakes his head a bit in disbelief. Yup, it makes even <em>him</em> uncomfortable just to look at the Russian.</p><p>"Oh Peril, Peril!"</p><p>Putting down the wine he places a hand on the man’s shoulder and gently shakes him.</p><p>"Peril! Rise and shine, beautiful!"</p><p>The Russian stirs and suddenly, his ice-cold gaze is upon his face. His eyes are a bit uncoordinated and hazed with dreams, still, always those perfectly blue.</p><p>Napoleon smiles at him and shakes him again, just for his own fun.</p><p>"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty!"</p><p>Illya mutters something in Russian, too quiet to be clear, and tries to push his hand off his shoulder. Napoleon doesn’t let himself be ignored.</p><p>"Come on now, Mr. Grump, I have something to show you!"</p><p>Illya’s gaze could spear a diamond, still, he groans and sits up, rubbing his eyes before he stands, and with his 2 proud meters towers over the smiling American.</p><p>"That’s it, Partner! Come on!"</p><p>The Russian follows him without protesting anymore. He must be so tired, the poor bastard, he hardly drags himself after him.</p><p>Napoleon stops at the doorway and with a dashing smile, gestures towards the bed.</p><p>"See? This is a bed. It helps you sleep comfortably."</p><p>Oh, that gaze he receives for this comment!</p><p>"Cowboy, I swear ...." Illya says a few moments later.</p><p>The American raises his hand and starts pushing him towards the nicely done bed.</p><p>"No no, hush, gentlemen do not swear. Stop whinig and let mommy help you."</p><p>Illya leaves this without a comment. He simply lets the American push him towards and onto the bed, and sits down awkwardly.</p><p>"Okay. Good boy. Let’s get a little bit more comfortable, shall we?"</p><p>Napoleon’s smile is dashing and cannot be more charming, as he kneels and takes off his shoes, rubbing his partner’s feet and calves a bit. Despite his efforts, Illya is still too strained, the faraway, dull gaze lingering in his eyes. The American sighs and pats his knee as he stands up.</p><p>"I think it will be better to call it a day and let you have some sleep. Here, take off your hat, hell, why are you even wearing a hat inside?"</p><p>Illya must be <em>really</em> tired, he doesn’t even protest being robbed off his trademark hat. And Napoleon knows better than to try and remove his sacred watch.</p><p>"Okay, lie down, like this, good. Better, isn’t it?"</p><p>It’s getting a little bit awkward, with only him talking.</p><p>"Good night, Partner. And thanks for today’s deeds."</p><p>He smiles at him, tucking the large man in and combing his fingers through the blonde strands with gentle care.</p><p>Illya nods and murmurs a „good night” before closing his eyes again.</p><p>Napoleon tiptoes out of the room, takes a nice shower, and in nothing but a satin bathrobe, pours himself a glass of wine. He deserves it, after all.</p><p>Not only twenty minutes later he is alarmed by the sounds coming from the bedroom.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Illya almost immediately falls asleep as he closes his eyes. First, his dreams are empty, following a repeating pattern as always, him walking in endless corridors, only the ticking sound of his watch to accompany. But then the dream takes a turn, and he finds himself in water again, and he can’t breath.</p><p>He can’t breath.</p><p>Just like on that fateful night, and in the recurring nightmares that follow, he drowns again.</p><p>Cold, dark water is all around, and it doesn’t matter how hard he struggles, he cannot escape. There is no surface to offer him release, just numbing, blinding darkness, and icy coldness filling his lungs and veins, and the tight band around his chest...</p><p>He is shaken awake by something loud and warm, and he bolts upright, with a scream clawing inside his throat, and the band still tight around his chest, preventing him from breathing right.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Napoleon rushes into the room, right after he hears the scared whimpers. Illya is still asleep, deep in the harsh grip of a nightmare, trashing and letting out choking sounds...</p><p>He is there beside his partner in a heartbeat, and shakes him hard, but keeps his voice calm and clear.</p><p>"Illya! Wake up, Partner!"</p><p>And so he does, oh so sudden, bolting upright with a choked back scream, scaring the living will out of the American.</p><p>"Peril, wha..."</p><p>Illya grabs his wrist in such a deadly grip he swears he could hear the bones cracking. There is a wild, haunted look in his eyes, dread and confusion on his features, breathes with horrible wheezes, and looks like he is this close to fight for his life. And Napoleon doesn’t want to get into a fight with the terrified Russian, who is way stronger than he is.</p><p>"Ow, ow, Partner. It’s just me, Napoleon, remember?"</p><p>He keeps his calm -though it’s hard-, resists the urge to flinch back or try to free himself, voice soothing and collected, leaves his body open and vulnerable, so every gesture signals he means no harm.</p><p>It hits the Russian in the instincts, just as he hoped, cause he doesn’t throw him off himself. Illya blinks, once, twice, and though his grip on his wrist doesn’t relax, it doesn’t get stronger either, and though his breathing is still ugly and concerning, on his features confusion starts to take over dread.</p><p>Napoleon keeps talking on, voice no less calming than before.</p><p>"That’s it. It’s me, Napoleon. You are safe, Illyusha. Just a bad dream."</p><p>Illya’s gaze falls upon his face, and the American can see how realisation shines up in his big, terrified eyes.</p><p>"Napo-le..."</p><p>He whispers, and releases his wrist just to grab at his own chest instead, and as he doubles over, his breathing gets more horrible than before.</p><p>A panic attack.</p><p>Napoleon knows the symptoms too well.</p><p>He sits down next to the larger man, and with one hand he takes his hand, while the other starts rubbing his back.</p><p>"Look at me, Illya. Tell me, what’s wrong."</p><p>His voice cannot be calmer, warmer, but it’s a bit demanding, cause Illya was -is- a soldier, who responds to orders even in the state of being completely lost.</p><p>It works, fortunately.</p><p>Illya looks at him, and says, desperately gasping for air.</p><p>"Can’t...breathe..."</p><p>He pulls his hand free and starts tearing at the neck of his sweater.</p><p>Napoleon nods and answers immediately.</p><p>"I see. It will be alright. I am here, I will help. Let’s get rid of these clothes first!"</p><p>He helps the Russian take off his vest and sweater and shirt -Jesus, how many layers!-; thanks to his experiences in undressing, it goes quickly and smoothly.</p><p>"There we go."</p><p>Then he places one of those large, trembling hands on his own bare chest.</p><p>"Try and breathe like me!"</p><p>He starts breathing just like he learned, inhaling deep and exhaling long, over and over again. He mimics the Russian, puts his hand on the man’s chest, feeling his rapid, panicked heartbeats and desperate gasps for air, the other keeps rubbing circles on the wide, scarred back.</p><p>"You are doing great, Illya. Keep looking at me, and breathe with me, I will help!"</p><p>He encourages him and keeps the calming, well-known rhythm. In, pause, out. In, pause, out.</p><p>Illya’s eyes never leave his face, not even for a second, and he hardly blinks. His pupils are unnaturally wide, but as the terror fades, more and more of his beautiful, blue irises show.</p><p>"That’s it, sweetheart, you are amazing, keep going just like that."</p><p>They sit there, till Illya’s gasps change into a calm, normal rhythm, and they are breathing in sync eventually.</p><p>"Good job. It’s okay, you did great."</p><p>Napoleon smiles at him and gently pats his back.</p><p>Then, and just then, Illya looks away and crosses his arms over his chest. Uneasy, embarassed, ashamed.</p><p>Ashamed he is. He should be the strong one, the one who never wavers, who never shows fear or hesitation. The one who offers strength and steadiness to his partners, who protects them at all costs. He should have been braver. Shouldn’t show fear. Or whimper for help like the pathetic failure he is.</p><p>Napoleon can almost hear the thoughts racing in that beautiful, blonde head. Heavens, the man looks like hell! His chest and back are covered with large, deep bruises, and he sports some nasty gashes on his shoulders and arms. He feels shame that he didn’t notice sooner that something is not right with his partner. After all this beating, no wonder he had a nightmare!</p><p>"Illya! Sweetheart, look at me!"</p><p>Oh, that calm, soothing voice again!</p><p>Illya dares to raise his gaze, and their eyes meet. Napoleon smiles, but this smile is not the usual one, the one which radiates confidence. No, it is kind, and caring, and even his voice lacks the mocking tone he uses all the time.</p><p>"How long are you having nightmares, Partner? I mean, this kind of nightmares."</p><p>The Russian lies down and turns away from him, hiding his face into his arm.</p><p>"Since I’ve drowned..."</p><p>Of-fucking-course. Damn, Napoleon is not proud of himself. He should have known it. He can blame himself later though, now he has more important things to do.</p><p>"Can I touch you?" He asks.</p><p>Illya doesn’t look at him just nods. So he reaches out and places his hand on his back. He feels him tensing under the touch, and wonders if it’s from pain, embarassment, or both combined.</p><p>"I’m fine. You can leave."</p><p>Illya’s voice is soft and quiet, and still he avoids his gaze.</p><p>"No. No, Partner, I won’t let you be alone with your thoughts tonight. You might have some stupid little conclusion in the end."</p><p>With a soft rustle of his satin robes, Napoleon is in the bed with him, facing him with a gentle smile.</p><p>"Hey there!"</p><p>Illya can’t ignore the fact that the American is naked under that deep blue bathrobe. A soft blush appeares on his cheeks and he reaches out to pull the cloth over his partner’s shoulder which somehow got free in the process.</p><p>Napoleon chuckles. Actually, he is quite proud of himself, because, despite the fact that he is lying basically naked next to the sexy, half-naked Russian beast, he is not having any indecent thoughts. Yet.</p><p>"You know, there is nothing shameful in having nightmares. You’ve been through a lot. We can work on it, Peril."</p><p>He offers. Illya closes his eyes but doesn’t protest, which is a good sign, hopefully.</p><p>"Can I have some sleep, please?" He asks at last. He sure sounds exhausted.</p><p>The American chuckles a bit and tucks him in again lightly.</p><p>"Of course, Partner. I noticed that you liked when I stroked your hair. Would it help you fall asleep?"</p><p>Illya looks at him at last, his blue eyes like stars, shining in the dim light.</p><p>"It would. My mother used to do it when I was small."</p><p>He is grateful that the American doesn’t make a comment about it. Moreover, his gaze softens, and there is something new in his eyes as he is looking at him, something warm and tender Illya is too afraid to name.</p><p>"Come a little closer then."</p><p>He does as was asked, curls around the smaller man, leaning into him, his calm, slow breaths hot on his bare chest.</p><p>Napoleon cradles his head closer to his chest and starts stroking his hair, in a steady, relaxing way, which makes all of the tesion melt from his muscles.</p><p>"There, just like that. You have beautiful hair, Illyusha."</p><p>Napoleon whispers, playing with the blonde strands, and occassionally, caressing the man’s face.</p><p>"Close your eyes, Partner. Have some rest. I will be here."</p><p>He inhales slowly, the scent of luxury products Napoleon uses, and something unique only his scent has. It smells familiar, calming. He curls closer into his embrace, letting their bodies to touch, to find comfort and love in the intimacy of this closeness.</p><p>One of his hands takes a fistful of robe, the expensive satin feeling cool and smooth between his fingers. But the other goes under, under the bathrobe, to pull his partner closer, and hug him in a gentle, protective way. In contrast of the satin’s cool, he feels warm flesh under his palm and Napoleon shivers, back trembling under his touch.</p><p>"Illya..."</p><p>Illya smiles a bit and hugs him closer, feeling safe and loved in his embrace, he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.</p><p>"Thank you." He whispers, placing a soft kiss on his partner’s chest, just above his heart.</p><p>The kiss is returned, tender on his forehead, as those nimble fingers continue stroking his hair.</p><p>"Anytime, Partner. Sweet dreams to you, sweetheart."</p><p>And sweet dreams Illya has, free from nightmares for that night.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please, feel free to leave a comment!<br/>Negative comments or comments of displeasure are also welcome, you can help me improve by pointing out my mistakes.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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